


Lay off on the Longing

by fem_castielnovak



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fluff, Castiel Can Hear Longing, Cooking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Insecure Dean, Literal Sleeping Together, Longing, M/M, Needy Dean, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 23:52:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6260884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fem_castielnovak/pseuds/fem_castielnovak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>based on the following prompt:<br/><em>when dean is holding Cas, & dean is thinking all his crazy thoughts about cas, wanting him, wanting them and what not. Cas can feel the longing, & he kind of like sleepily like pats Deans face, & sleepily ask him to turn his mind off cuz he can't sleep w/ his mind going all crazy or something like that? it's kind of vague & can go anyway</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Lay off on the Longing

**Author's Note:**

> **me:** I have written a ficlet and satisfied yet another customer.  
>  **also me:** you ruined a perfectly good prompt is what you did. Look at it, it’s got angst and insecure Dean!

 

 

Cuddles.  
Cuddles on the couch, with Castiel.  
That was the total summary of how Dean Winchester chose to spend his first day off in weeks.

And now, here he is, hours later, still wrapped up with the angel. They’re in their bed, going to sleep, Cas curled towards him. Dean’s eyes flutter open the slightest bit and he watches his breath ruffle Cas’s hair as he exhales. Dean smiles and sighs, resisting the urge to bury his face closer to Cas’s head for fear of disturbing him.

“Nnnhh,” Cas grunts. Dean waits for more of a reaction, sure that Cas is awake even though his eyes are still closed. He looks really adorable like this; pre-frown wrinkle lines staining his features, as if he’s trying to think very hard but he’s too sleepy to do so. There’s some wiggling between them and Cas’s arm flops its way upwards until it’s patting or maybe weakly swatting at Dean’s face.

Dean laughs softly, “Is there something wrong with my face?”

Cas grunts again.

Dean shifts and whispers along the shell of Cas’s ear, “Use your words.” Castiel’s face twitches and so do the corners of Dean’s mouth. Cas’s fingers press down like they’re weakly trying to squeeze his face.

“Use your words or get your goddam fingers out of my eyeballs,” he whispers again. Dean is well aware of the playful tenderness that coats his voice.

Cas grunts and stills himself. Dean takes the hand off of his face and brings it down to his chest. It shifts and settles over his heart. The accident of it excites Dean far more than it should. There’s something heartening about the thump-thump vibrating from his chest into Cas’s fingertips.

“Stop with the … that.”

The words are so garbled, Dean just assumes that Cas is talking in his sleep. So he hushes him and they settle back in.

There’s an allowance for sappiness. Dean craves this sort of intimacy and Cas gives it so freely. He wonders if he’s beginning to feel entitled to it. But wanting Cas in the all-consuming way which he does entails wanting these little sweetnesses, too. Sometimes Dean is sure that these are the moments he lives for now.  
It feels like they’re protecting each other, wrapped up as they are. Bodies curved inward, limbs intertwined and pressed inexorably close. Their chests bump with inhales and exhales. Dean knows that if he thinks about it too much, he’ll cause their breathing to line up. Finding another manner in which he can align himself, synchronize with Cas. The times that it happens on accident are neither few, nor far-between, but Dean catches himself timing them, seeing how long it lasts before a yawn or a cough offsets them. Dean thinks it has something to do with how Cas doesn’t actually _need_ to breathe that makes his steady, easy rhythm so easy to match.

Cas shifts again and his hand reaches up once more to pat the side of Dean’s face but he seems more awake now and the motion isn’t meant to garner attention, it’s more of a comfort or a prompting action.

“If you’re going to keep me in your bed at night, I’d at least like to be afforded the opportunity to sleep.”

Dean shivers at the affectionate phrasing and his heart surges; _keep me in your bed at night._

“ _There_ ,” Cas intones, “ _that._ Save it until tomorrow.”

“I moved, Cas,” he says, thinking the angel is referring to his shiver, “I’m going to move sometimes during my sleep.”

“Yes, I know; you’re like …” Cas searches for wording, “… a warm fish the way you flop around.”

“Excuse me? Am I not speaking to Mr. Blanket-hogging-octopus?”

“Dean, that wasn’t my point.”

“Mmmm,” Dean grunts with some level of satisfaction as he closes his eyes, hoping Cas will just let them both get back to resting. He’s just begun to let contentment overtake him once more when the angel finds his voice.

“Your mind is … loud.” Cas huffs, “I hesitate to say restless because the thoughts themselves seem calm. It’s simply distracting. I’m trying to focus myself on relaxing but all I’m getting is your longing.”

“… M-my _longing?_ ” The contentment evaporated so easily; now he’s on-edge.

Cas grunts.

Dean hopes he hasn’t tensed or otherwise given himself away, “What-what do you mean, _‘longing’_?”

“Emotional hunger,” he mumbles. “When you think of me…,” Cas’s wrist is relaxed but he wiggles his hand dismissively in the space just above and between them, “I can feel it. Like it’s tugging at me for attention.” His hand falls to Dean’s shoulder and his fingers follow its curve to cup it. “Makes it harder for me to unwind.”

Dean, mortified, is rapidly trying to corral his thoughts.

 _‘Emotional hunger’?_  
He’s aware of exactly how much he lets his guard down when it’s just himself and Cas, and it’s nice to live with less of a censor. But for Cas to be forced to deal with what Dean thought were things limited to his own headspace? Even if it’s just the gist of the thoughts, that’s gotta be way more than anything the angel has ever asked for.  
In fact, this is worse than if Cas had straight up asked him to speak his mind. It might have been awkward and a bit difficult, and Dean would have tried to wheedle his way out of the conversation, because this is fucking embarrassing. But at least all of it would have been warranted – wanted, even. Obviously, though, his _longing_ is actively bothering the angel.

There are a multitude of other topics he can think of aside from Castiel. Certainly he’s capable of picking one and being done with it. He can’t be _that_ needy.

Nothing comes to him.

He tries to rationalize. He shouldn’t even be thinking; he’s trying to sleep. Thinking isn’t necessary for sleep. That’s what dreams are for, once you’re _already_ asleep.  

Dean doesn’t let the panic escape his chest cavity. He doesn’t let it seep into his blood and limbs, or out through his skin, and he doesn’t let it tense his muscles. Effortfully, he maintains the calm exterior, letting that concentration absorb him rather than anything to do with Castiel.

Cas’s nose wrinkles but he sighs out a, “ _Better_ ,” and presumably drifts off into whatever quasi-meditative, non-sentient state he goes into when his vessel doesn’t need sleep. His measured breathing is a comfort but Dean’s concentration keeps his own exhaustion at bay for a long while and it takes him much longer to slip into a dream.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Morning comes sweetly.  
The spot beside Dean isn’t warm anymore, but the bedclothes still smell like Castiel and beyond it floats the scent of hot breakfast.

Dean blinks slowly and pushes the comforter out of the way to peek at the clock. It’s early enough to assume that Sam is still asleep, so Cas is likely the one manning the stove.

 _Good,_ Dean thinks. He likes when the two of them get to have couple’s breakfast. Cas knows Dean’s comfort levels and he knows that PDA in front of Sam is a no-no. Or at least is should be kept to a minimum. The urge to kiss or sit close together can be a difficult one to resist. But on couple’s breakfast mornings _(God, who let him start calling them that?)_ , Dean gets to hold Cas’s hand on top of the table, and Cas wraps his calf around Dean’s, and between sips of coffee and juice they trade kisses.

The trudge to the kitchen allows for time to rein himself in. Last night’s conversation is branded into the forefront of his mind, and Dean is intent on keeping himself under control. Because, seriously, Cas shouldn’t have to put up with his gushy, clingy bullshit.  
At least not mentally. Dean absolutely plans on being gushy about hand-holding and kissing Cas on his mouth and neck and behind his ear. Cas loves those.

As he rounds the corner and steps into the kitchen, Dean immediately becomes self-conscious of his thoughts.  
How could he not?  
Cas stands at the stove gripping a frying pan in one hand and a spatula in the other. His hair sticks up in tufts because he waits to do all of his grooming at once and sleeping throws him off a little, so at least through breakfast he likes to stay in his pajamas. Pajamas which happen to send a jolting surge of possessiveness through Dean, because they’re his. By the time Dean got to his room last night, Cas had already been tucked into bed, so he hadn’t been able to fully appreciate how casual and cozy the angel looked in his clothes. He looks even cozier now that they’re sleep-rumpled.  
Cas yawns, and Dean bites his lip trying to stifle a smile because Cas never yawns and oh God, it’s probably the cutest thing that Dean has or will ever see.

Dean _aches_ with trying to contain himself. It’s harder than it was last night. He’s still sleepy and as is, there isn’t much he’d rather look at than the picture of domesticity which lies before him.

“Are you done hovering?” Cas asks, because he’s a sassy little shit. Dean saunters across the tile, picking out details that don’t regard the other man: the bacon smells delicious where it’s sizzling in the overfull pan, flecks of grease are popping out, Cas should be wearing an apron- _shit_ , _nope_ , the tile is cold, there’s a bowl of fruit on the counter, he doesn’t smell coffee, he should make coffee.

But Dean’s standing in Cas’s space now, and the coffee can wait. Cas lowers the heat on the stove and sets down the spatula. He turns and cups Dean’s face, leaning in for a chaste, good-morning kiss. Dean draws back slowly, and Cas catches him where he still holds his jaw, keeping him close. He lets Cas tilt his face to press a kiss to his forehead and as he pulls away, he strokes a thumb across its width as if to press out wrinkles. Dean swallows and focuses on the sensation, rather than the who and the what of the action.

Cas repeats the motion and meets Dean’s eyes, “You’re holding yourself back,” he says. “Don’t.”

The confrontation catches Dean a bit off-guard, “I don’t wanna, um …”

“But I do want you to.”

His sincerity compels Dean to apologize, “I didn’t mean to bombard you with all of … that. I had no idea you could hear any of it.”

Cas shakes his head, “I’ve gotten used to it for the most part but in such close proximity, and while I’m trying to concentrate on sleeping, it’s a small difficulty.”

“If it bothers you, I’d rather try to quit it, or muffle th-the longing somehow–“

Cas interrupts him, “You can’t cut me off now,” he jokes with a sweet smile. “Not after years of you upping the dosage. It already feels like my plate is half empty with you guarding yourself the way you are.”

“I just-“

Cas saddles his arms around Dean’s neck and leans into him further. Dean’s breath hitches.

“I won’t read your thoughts, but knowing your feelings …” Cas whispers as the tip of his nose drags in a line up the column of his neck, “it’s become addictive.”

“So we’re just shy of mind-reading then?” Dean murmurs. He slips his arms around Cas’s waist, “Close but no cigar?”

Cas shakes his head and his lips brush gently against the base of Dean’s throat. “Nothing so invasive as that. I can’t feel what you feel, but I can sense when you reach out for me. Mentally or emotionally.” Cas drops a kiss to the bolt of his jaw, “Plus, I’m good at reading you.”

“So what is it you want?” Dean asks, willingness saturating his words.

“Relax,” Cas requests, “I want you to relax and let me feel you again.”

As easily as that, Dean lets himself slip into a state of normalcy. Cas inhales and his eyelids flutter as soon as Dean draws back the metaphorical floodgates. He sighs and when his eyes open, they flick back and forth between Dean’s. “I appreciate how much you love me, and that you think of me so frequently with such intensity – it’s absolutely mutual. I was just having a difficult time finding a meditative state last night.”

Dean presses a kiss to Castiel’s cheek, not wanting to feel more coddled than he’s obviously already being.

“Truthfully, I don’t know what I’d do if you tried to keep that up all the time.” For levity, Cas leans back and quips, “I’m trusting you not to use it as a bargaining chip in the future.”

Dean thinks he must smile because Cas shines one on him before asking reassuringly, “Okay?”

“Alright.”

“Alright,” Cas parrots, “Now make some coffee, and I’ll finish cooking the bacon.”

Dean glances warily at the pan which is simply coated in strips of meat. “Good luck,” he says, turning to the bulky, antique coffee maker.

“I don’t need luck,” Cas says confidently, with an analytical squint at the pan’s contents.

“You’ve got a lot of pigs on that farm but, hey. Whatever you say, Iron Chef.”

Cas swats at his ass when Dean stretches for the container of coffee grounds set out on the counter. Dean hooks his hand around Cas’s wrist, and tugs him into a kiss. It ends up as more of a press of smiles than anything else, but that only serves to fuel the burble of warmth in Dean’s chest.

He has officially spoiled himself.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I could write Needy and Insecure Dean for ages
> 
> Exits are to your left, your right, and your rear, restrooms are to the front, Kudos and comments are found below, and as always, very appreciated. Thank you for flying Air fem-castielnovak.


End file.
